


kept awake in joy

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Birthday Fluff, Gen, Pre-Reboot, the batdad his batkids deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 11:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: Being a billionaire makes buying gifts easy; knowingwhatto buy is the hard part.





	kept awake in joy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lembeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lembeau/gifts).



> What even is the timeline in superhero comics. Consider this pre-reboot. Title from "Joy" by Kathleen Pierce. 
> 
> An early birthday gift for Lembeau. Sorry for making you look over your own present! <3

**i. Damian - Birthdate unknown**

Bruce thinks his relationship with Damian has improved. They still don't have the rapport that either of them has with Dick, but that's because Dick is the most loving person he knows, and everyone he meets blooms under his attention, like flowers turning towards the sun.

Neither he nor Damian is that emotionally open, but they've gotten better. He thinks Damian knows how much he cares, even if he's still terrible at talking about it. He knows he doesn't need a showy display of wealth to buy his son's regard or to show how much he regrets missing the first ten years of his life. Still, it can't hurt to find a gift the boy really wants. Something that isn't another animal to add to the rapidly growing menagerie taking over the Manor grounds under Damian's benevolent tyranny.

Alfred had pointed out that art supplies are expensive, even on Damian's allowance, so here he is at Blick's, filling a cart with sketchpads and charcoals and tubes of oil paint. He has no idea if Damian is even interested in oils, but he orders an easel and some canvases to go along with everything else. If Damian doesn't want them, they can always be donated to one of the youth centers Tim's overseeing around the city.

Even though the pile of wrapped packages will tower over the birthday cake Alfred is baking, Bruce still feels that something is missing.

He realizes what it is when he chases Selina into the Gotham Art Museum and sees the banners advertising an upcoming exhibit on George Stubbs. It's easy enough to get tickets to the opening, and hopefully it will keep Damian from asking for an actual horse.

"I'm not a child!" Damian protests when Dick snaps a pointy birthday hat on his head, but it lacks his usual vehemence. His eyes widen at the pile of gifts beside the beautifully glazed orange cake shaped like a cat that Alfred spent the afternoon baking, making him look exactly like an eleven-year-old boy on his birthday.

He deigns to allow them to sing Happy Birthday to him and blows out the candles with a sense of noblesse oblige that makes Bruce bite back a snicker when his gaze meets Dick's over the boy's head. 

He receives a variety of pet and art-related gifts, and he looks surprised and pleased with every one he opens; by the time he gets to the cloth-bound sketchbook Bruce bought him, he's not even trying to hide it. 

"Open it," Bruce says, and there, inside the front flap, is a copy of the museum brochure.

Damian's face lights up further as he reads it. "Stubbs, Father? Does this mean you aren't buying me a horse?"

Bruce cracks a rare smile and touches Damian's chin gently. "Not this year. Maybe when you're thirteen."

"Tt." Damian fiddles with the brochure for a moment before giving a decisive nod. "It will suffice. Thank you, Father."

"Happy birthday," Bruce says around the tightness in his throat. He's saved from saying more by Dick and Steph chanting, "Cake, cake, cake," while Alfred places the first slice in front of Damian and starts handing around cake-filled plates.

It's a good day.

*

 **ii. Cass - January 26**

Bruce knows he shouldn't compare his children—he never intended to make that mistake with Jason and he's tried not to do it to any of the others—but Cassandra is the easiest of them for him to understand, maybe because he doesn't need words to communicate with her, so she always knows all the things he can't figure out how to say.

That also makes it hard to surprise her—not that anyone in the family is easy to get a drop on, which is his own fault—but easy to know what she likes. He knows just what to get her for her birthday, which they celebrate on the day she chose, since none of them know when exactly she was born. He's happy to celebrate the day they met instead.

Alfred makes an ice cream cake and the boys shower her with hugs and presents. Dick gives her a pair of diamond earrings for her newly pierced ears, and Tim gives her a necklace to go with the dress Alfred picked out for her—they're attending opening night at the Gotham City Ballet in a couple of weeks, and getting dressed up for the occasion. 

"Pearls," she says, delighted, holding them up against her throat, where they gleam with an understated luster. 

"I noticed you admiring the ones in the portrait," Tim replies, with a quick sidelong glance at Bruce. 

Bruce gives him a tiny nod of approval. "They're lovely."

She gets a pair of knives masquerading as hairsticks from Damian, and laughs when she can't get them to stay in her hair. "Babs will know how," she says, and gives him a kiss. He grumbles but Bruce can see how pleased he is that she likes his gift.

She'd had a spa day with Babs and Steph, and even Jason is on his best behavior—he brings her a garish pink plastic tiara with "Little Princess" spelled out in rhinestones on it, and a casefile they can work on together. Even when Jason's at odds with Bruce or his brothers, he's always willing to play nice with the girls, and Cass can always use the practice with her detective work. Bruce is thankful for small favors. 

He knows that one day he'll have to pass the cowl on and he also knows that none of the older boys want it. Perhaps Damian will take it up in time, but if Bruce had his way, and Cass hers, she'll be the one to carry his legacy forward. It's not time for that gift, though (and he knows there are some who wouldn't see it as a gift at all), so Bruce gets her new pointe shoes and the tickets to Giselle, but it still doesn't seem like enough.

"Bruce, get over here, we're taking pictures," Dick says, and the sight of all of them smushing together with bright eyes and smiling faces so Tim can capture the moment makes his heart clench. The boys jostle to get close to Cass, knocking her tiara askew, and Bruce realizes there's something else he can give her—something tangible and precious.

His mother's jewelry is locked away in the safe in his bedroom, but he hasn't thought of the tiara in years. He knows now she wore it as a debutante (he imagines Cass at a cotillion and decides it might be worth hosting one just to see how Gotham's high society reacts), but when he was a boy, he'd been fascinated by it and asked her to wear it while he played at jousting and sword-fighting—she'd been his queen and he, her loyal knight. It seems much smaller now, but still beautiful, a band of tiny diamond-crusted snowflakes that will sparkle like stars in Cass's dark hair.

Cass gasps when he brings it to her, and Jason grumbles about being upstaged, but it's playful instead of angry. "This is for every day," Cass reassures him, clutching the plastic tiara to her chest. She points to the one Bruce has nestled in her hair. "This is for special occasions."

"I can live with that," Jason says, and he pinks up a little when she kisses his cheek.

"Thank you," she says and signs at the same time, and then steps into Bruce's arms for a hug. Over the top of her head, Alfred gives him a pleased nod of approval, and Bruce feels warm and content.

*

**iii. Tim - July 19**

Tim is the hardest of the kids to shop for. He's used to buying himself whatever he needs before anyone else even notices he needs it. Bruce has already given him a car, a home, the family business (both day and night)--he's not sure what's left that Tim could want or need. But he's a detective, after all. He'll figure it out.

Bruce buys him a vintage camera—a Leica 35 millimeter in mint condition, still in its original box, and film to go with it—but it's a token at best, a gift to unwrap after blowing out the candles on his cake. Instead, when the day comes and Tim doesn't give in to hints that he should take a vacation day and enjoy himself, Bruce drives him to the office and lets him talk through the day's events—the monthly executive committee meeting, the weekly senior staff team meeting, the daily R&D huddle, the conference call with the patent lawyers, the planned network upgrades that will force everyone, including Tim, to log off and not work remotely on Friday night and Saturday morning.

"I think Babs might be able to hook me in, though," he says. "I don't want to fall too far behind."

Bruce frowns; he has nothing to do with the network upgrades, but he's all for giving Tim a chance to step away from work once in a while. "I applaud your work ethic, but I think you should let it be. I have full confidence that Babs could get in and out undetected, but I'd rather not take the chance."

"You just don't want to give her any other backdoors into WE systems," Tim guesses with a laugh.

"Yes," Bruce replies. "Let's go with that." Tim looks puzzled, so before he can think too much about what that means, Bruce says, "You'll let me take you to lunch today, right, Tim?"

Tim looks startled for a moment but then he smiles. "Yeah, uh. Yeah, Bruce. That'd be great."

"Good. Alfred's made reservations at Tamarind for 12:30. I'll pick you up."

Tim opens his mouth and Bruce knows the protest is coming—he knows that unless there's a meeting of some sort where food will be served, Tim usually works through lunch, eating Kind bars from the vending machine and drinking too much coffee—but then he closes it again. His lips curve in the tiniest hint of a smile and instead he says, "I'll see you then."

Lunch is more of the same. Over tandoori chicken (Bruce) and spicy lentil stew (Tim), Tim talks about his plans for the quarterly shareholders meeting, the next Wayne Enterprises tech conference, the new payroll system HR is hoping to install in September and half a dozen other projects he's overseeing as CEO. Bruce listens avidly, making minor suggestions that Tim takes in stride.

Tim has never been as easy or as open with him as Dick and Jason once were, but they're too much alike not to get along; having Tim at his side as Robin had been like having an extension of himself at times. He's still not sure if it was the best thing for Tim, though it had made _his_ life easier both in and out of the cowl. Still, the boy blossoms under the attention, the same way he'd come into his own first as Robin and then as Red Robin, always rising to the challenges set for him in a way that makes Bruce's chest warm with pride.

It's been a while since they patrolled together, and as he absentmindedly calculates an exorbitant tip for their server, he rejiggers tonight's assignments in his head. He even knows how he's going to get around Damian's objections.

Later, after cake and presents and an ungodly amount of teasing—Bruce was an only child and he sometimes still can't believe he's got five kids plus additional hangers-on making themselves at home in his house and his life—when they're down in the cave, he says, "Robin, you're with Nightwing tonight in Tricorner. Red Robin, you're with me."

Damian grumbles, but his voice lacks bite when he says, "I suppose that's acceptable, Father." He turns to Dick. "I hope you can keep up, Grayson." With a flourish of his cape, he sprints to his bike. 

Dick follows with a fond huff of exasperation, calling, "Happy birthday, Tim," over his shoulder.

"Thanks, Dick." Tim grins and then turns to Bruce. "And thank you."

Bruce gives him a manly shoulder squeeze, knowing anything else would be too much. "Happy birthday, Tim. I'm so proud of you." He turns away so Tim can have a moment to recover himself, and finds Alfred giving him a proud look of his own.

*

 **iv. Jason - August 16**

Jason's return to the family has been slow and erratic. Bruce knows that a lot of the reasons for that—almost all of them, really—are his fault. He also knows that Jason would both agree and be outraged at the idea that Bruce is responsible for his actions or his feelings, but the one thing that's never changed is that Jason is his _son_ and Bruce failed him in so many different ways that it makes him nauseated to think too much about it. (That doesn't stop him, of course; he just drinks the ginger tea Alfred brews him when he broods.)

It's been the steady, cautious outreach by Dick and Babs and Cass and even Tim, along with the less wary, more ebullient inclusion by Steph, who seems to think of Jason as a natural ally despite their philosophical differences (they grew up in the same neighborhood, and in Gotham, that still means something), in a succession of team-ups against the Marconis and the Falcones, not to mention Alfred's vigilant and enduring care, that has brought Jason back to him. To them.

Still, it's his first birthday since their fragile détente has grown a little hardier, the first Bruce is able to celebrate with him since before he died, and Bruce doesn't want to screw it up. The first gift is easy—Alfred has already found an extremely rare first edition of Ivanhoe, all three volumes shabby but intact, and a copy of the Anthony Andrews version of the movie, which Jason inexplicably preferred to the Robert Taylor one.

"You're overthinking it," Dick says when Bruce asks him. "Take him out for a chili dog. It'll be enough."

"They are still Master Jason's favorite," Alfred agrees. "As long as you don't eat them while handling the books, it should be all right."

It _should_ be all right, but Bruce wants something better than that. The Knights are in the middle of a long homestand in mid-August, and he imagines sitting behind the Knights' dugout in the hot August sunshine, eating chili dogs with his son and heckling the Yankees, who'll be in town the weekend of Jason's birthday. The Wayne Enterprises box is available, and he has his assistant reserve the tickets. It's been a while since he went to a game—he and Clark used to make an outing of it when the Knights played the Monarchs, but the past few years have been…difficult, and he hasn't really enjoyed a game since Jason died. He hasn't enjoyed a lot of things since then, but now he's got a second chance and he's going to grab it while he can.

"That's the spirit, Master Bruce," Alfred murmurs when Bruce shows him the tickets before slipping them into the first volume of Ivanhoe between the pages where the masked knight Desdichado defeats Bois-Guilbert.

Bruce isn't sure Jason will show up to his own birthday dinner, despite reassurances from both Alfred and Cass that he'll be there. He doesn't relax until Jason is there on the back deck draining a glass of seltzer while Steph heckles him from the pool.

"It's his birthday," Cass scolds from where she's lounging on a float, "be nice."

"I am being nice! I'm always nice."

Babs lets out an incredulous huff but doesn't look up from her phone.

Steph ignores her and keeps talking. "It's nice in the pool, too, Jason. Why are you out there being sweaty when you could be in here being cool?"

Jason snorts but doesn't get to respond because Damian comes tearing out of the house with Titus, chasing after Alfred the cat and being chased by Dick. Except for the cat, which sprints up a tree, they all jump into the pool one after another, splashing Steph and knocking Cass off her float.

"Oh, it's on now, boys," Steph says, and the air is split by shrieks of laughter interspersed with shouting and barking as a raucous splash-fight ensues.

Bruce glances over at Alfred, who looks pleased and amused, and then at Jason, who's finally finished hydrating and has stripped off his shirt and jeans to reveal his bathing trunks. Bruce notes that most of his old scars are gone, but new, unfamiliar ones are scattered across his skin in addition to a smattering of freckles.

"Put on sunscreen," Bruce calls out to him and gets flipped off in response. He can't help but laugh even as he worries about sunburn.

Jason cannonballs into the deep end with a wordless bellow, splashing everyone. "I win," he says when he surfaces, hands raised over his head in victory.

"It's good to see them all here," Alfred says.

"It really is," Bruce replies.

After dinner and cake, there are presents to unwrap, and Bruce holds his for last, suddenly unsure but unwilling to show it. Alfred harrumphs and places the neatly wrapped box in front of Jason.

"This is from your father and me," he says. "I do hope you like it."

"I'm sure it's great, Alf." Jason takes his time unwrapping it, and his mouth opens in shock when he realizes what it is. "A first edition?" he asks, stroking the cloth covers gently.

"Yes," Alfred says when Bruce doesn't answer. 

"Thank you." Jason's tone is sincere, and he glances over at Bruce, including him in it. They haven't spoken much tonight, and that's probably for the best, but Bruce can't help wishing for more. 

It's then that Jason notices the tickets Bruce slipped inside. "Tomorrow's Knights game?" 

"Field level," Bruce replies, "right behind their dugout. I thought we could go, eat some chili dogs, make a day of it." He meets Jason's gaze and holds his breath against the possibility of rejection.

"I—" Jason glances away and swallows hard. "I'd like that. Thank you."

Bruce gives him a small, relieved smile. "Happy birthday, Jay."

*

**v. Dick - March 21**

"Paintball," Bruce says skeptically.

"Paintball," Dick confirms with the same mischievous grin he'd worn as an eight-year-old dangling from a trapeze, a ten-year-old dangling from the chandelier, and a sixteen-year-old dangling from a skyscraper.

"Hn."

"You asked what I wanted to do for my birthday," Dick reminds him.

"I thought you'd say skydiving," Bruce says. "HALO jumping. Cake. Maybe ice cream. Karaoke, at worst." 

"Been there, done that," Dick says cheerfully. "Broke several world records in the process. I want to do something with the family." When Bruce doesn't respond he says, "We can still have cake and ice cream." His grin turns sly. "And karaoke."

Bruce ignores that last bit; it's his own fault for even mentioning karaoke. He knows better. "After we shoot each other with paintballs."

"Exactly." Dick laughs. "You can treat it as a training exercise if you—"

"No. It's your birthday and I asked." 

"It'll be fun," Dick says.

Bruce raises an eyebrow; he has his doubts.

He's not wrong, exactly, but he isn't right, either. They start out in two teams but it quickly devolves into a free-for-all. 

"Every Bat for herself," Steph sings out when she and Cass take off running into the trees. 

It's loud and raucous and less organized than any training exercise Bruce has overseen, but sneaking around in the woods in broad daylight—it's a cool, crisp, early spring day—is more fun than he remembers, and he realizes he should have given Dick more credit.

He doesn't like guns, and Dick knows that, but despite appearances, these are no more real than the super-soakers Dick and Tim chase each other around the pool with, and they're all wearing safety goggles and vests, so there's no _real_ danger. They face worse every night on patrol.

He doesn't enjoy getting shot repeatedly with paintballs, though, especially after the kids all team up against him—even Cass joins them in the end, her smile wide and her eyes crinkled in laughter as she nails him with two shots of yellow paint, one on each shoulder. If he gets tagged again, he loses.

It makes him proud to see his kids all working together seamlessly, even if in this case they're working to target and capture him. He's so busy trying to escape the kids that he loses track of Alfred. He comes back to the path at the bottom of a hill and finds himself facing him over the long barrel of the paintball gun.

"Surrender," Alfred says.

Bruce's lips twitch but he doesn't let himself smile. "Never."

Alfred tags him with blue paint, right in the center of his vest, before Bruce can even bring up his gun. "Penny One reporting in. I have the Patriarch."

Dick and Damian swoop down from a nearby tree, Tim appears from beneath a pile of leaves, and the girls come running down the nearest hill.

Jason swings down from a tree further away with leaves in his hair and a book in his hand. "It's about time." He shoves the book into his back pocket and dusts off his hands. "I was told there would be cake."

"Karaoke first," Dick says, and when the others protest he throws Bruce under the bus. "It was Bruce's idea!"

"I wouldn't say that," Bruce hedges, but it's no use. When they get home, he's first up at the mic, singing whatever abomination Dick's picked out for him. Thankfully, Dick agreed that using the karaoke machine in the north parlor counted, so at least his humiliation will be contained. He's sure it's being recorded, though, and can only imagine what Babs and Kate will say.

Then Dick joins him on his right, dragging a protesting Tim and Damian up with him. When he glances to his left, Jason is there as well. Cass and Steph watch from the sofa, clapping and, in Steph's case, calling out song suggestions. Surely whatever Dick has picked can't be worse than any of her choices.

The opening notes of "I Want It That Way" start playing, and Bruce bites back a groan and focuses on the lyrics. Dick grabs Damian and Tim by their collars to keep them in line, and starts singing. Bruce sighs and joins him. It's his birthday, after all.

*

**vi. Steph - August 11**

Stephanie isn't his daughter—she has a mother, and Bruce doesn't begrudge her that, especially since Crystal Brown has clawed her way to recovery and become a steadying influence on the girl. But she's made herself part of his family, even over his own resistance. Still, he's not involved in her birthday celebration, which involves Cass, Jason, and an all you can eat waffle bar in Burnside. He only knows because he sees the charge on Cass's credit card. Alfred would have preferred another pool party and barbecue, and Bruce hears him suggest to Cass that next year perhaps Miss Stephanie and Master Jason could have a joint party, since their birthdays are not even a week apart. 

Bruce isn't sure how he feels about that. She _was_ his Robin, if only for a short time. He was not good or kind to her; she'd reminded him too much of Jason and he'd kept her at arm's length, afraid she'd end up the same way. Of course, she _had_ , and that's as much his fault as it is hers. In all his anger at Leslie for lying, he still feels great relief that Stephanie isn't dead, that she didn't really die because he didn't trust her enough and she felt she had something to prove.

So he doesn't press; he made her Batgirl, with Cass's full agreement, and she's grown into the role with great aplomb. Which is how she does everything, so he shouldn't be surprised, but he is. He's also surprised at how glad he is that she's making a place for herself in his family, though she still avoids him when she can help it and he does the same.

He's not sure what other gift she would want from him. He's paying for her college education, she knows she'll always have a job at Wayne Enterprises if she needs it, and he's given her his blessing as Batgirl. 

He's scanning old files for storage when the idea hits him, and since he's a detective, the information isn't that hard to find.

A few nights later, he asks her to stop by the cave after patrol. They've been getting along better since he got back from his trip through time, but she's still wary—he can see it in the set of her chin and her shoulders.

"I'm sorry I missed your birthday," he says after everyone else has left for the showers or for bed. "I wasn't sure what to get you."

"You don't have to get me anything," she says, startled. "I think paying my tuition is good enough."

He gestures dismissively. "That's not a gift. I've done that for all of you." He takes a sealed manila folder out of his desk drawer. Now that he's actually facing her, he suddenly realizes it may not be something she wants at all. It's a terrible invasion of privacy.

"Thanks, though. I mean." Steph looks as awkward as he feels.

He holds out the envelope. "I know you requested a sealed adoption," he begins and pauses when she gasps, then forces himself to continue. "But if you want to know—" He scrubs a hand through his hair, sweaty and lank from the cowl. "I would want to know. Losing a child is—I wouldn't wish that pain on anyone, and what you did—" She puts a hand over her mouth, and he hopes he's not screwing this up. "I just wanted to let you know I think it was very brave."

She shifts, turning away so he can't see her face, arms coming up to cross over her chest. Her shoulders shake and her breath hitches. 

"Should I have just bought you a car? Selina said I should just buy you a car."

"No," she says after a long moment. She turns back towards him, wiping her nose on her gauntlet. "I—Is she safe? Is she loved?"

"Yes," he says. "Very much so."

Steph nods, tears still spilling down her cheeks, and he steps closer to put an arm around her shoulders. She sobs against his chest for a few minutes and he rubs her arm, hating how helpless he feels, and wondering if he's made a mistake.

Her sobs subside, and she steps back, putting a little distance between them as she swipes at her face with the backs of her hands. "Thank you. It still hurts so much sometimes and I wonder, every day, if I did the right thing. Knowing that she's well and loved—that helps." She sniffs and he silently hands her the box of tissues from his desk. "I don't know if I want to know more, if I _should_ know more. But thank you for giving me the choice."

Bruce slides the envelope into a drawer. "It's here if you want it."

She nods. "Now let us never speak of this again?" Her laugh is wobbly but sincere.

"Of course," he says gently. "Can't have you ruining my reputation as the scary old Bat, now can I?"

"Thank you," she whispers, and then presses a quick, soft kiss to his cheek before dashing back to her bike. "Have a good night!"

"Happy birthday, Stephanie," he says, though he knows she can't hear him over the roar of the engine. "Get home safe."

He's not ready to turn in yet. There's a new gang moving in on Two-Face's territory in Tricorner, and the Triads are trying to muscle in on Penguin's gambling racket. Still, he checks in on all of his kids before settling in to work, thankful that for once, they're all home, safe, and alive.

end

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you unfamiliar with Ivanhoe, he returns to England from the Crusades and disguises himself as the masked knight "Desdichado" which the book translates as "Disinherited." It seemed fitting for Jason, who would also get the reference.
> 
> Dick did some crazy-ass HALO jump in Nightwing #151 and you can read about it [**here**](https://www.cbr.com/weird-facts-nightwing-body/).


End file.
